Lights, Camera, DISASTER!

by Gordon Korman

  The three turned to regard Elmer. Macdonald Hall’s top student had heard it too. He stood stiff as a pointer, nostrils flared, eyes haunted.

  Boots cocked an eyebrow. “I wonder what it is.”

  Chapter 15

  Is it Dangerous?

  Goose Golden slumped down on a rock and passed a grubby hand over his scratched face. “I’m not going to make it!” he rasped hoarsely. “You go on without me! Tell J.J. I tried!”

  Mr. Sturgeon uncorked a canteen and handed it to his companion. “Enough melodrama. You are here at your own insistence, over my protest, and you will take your medicine like a man.”

  Golden shivered. His light linen sports clothes were no match for the damp chill of the north woods. “It’s your fault! You said this was a park! A park is swings, a few trees, grass, benches, maybe a baseball diamond. This is the Amazon rain forest!”

  “It’s the wilderness survival trip,” the Headmaster explained. “We prefer not to have it in the grand ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria.”

  He regarded the manager in some amusement. What had formerly been a white, stylish, California-tailored outfit was now good only for the ragpicker. Mud, grass stains and the juice of countless rotted berries dotted the white linen everywhere. Golden had spent more time flat on his face than on his feet, and he looked it.

  “Come along, Golden. We’re losing time here. Those reporters can’t be far behind us.”

  The manager wasn’t budging. “What a place to bring a bunch of kids! What have you got against Disneyland? This is the hairy armpit of the universe! It’s freezing, it’s dangerous, it’s filthy, it stinks and it’s full of animals!” There was a scream in the distance. “See? Now, what makes a sound like that? I don’t know, but I sure wouldn’t invite it up to the house for a barbecue!”

  Mr. Sturgeon frowned. He had noticed the sounds as well, and had never heard anything quite like it in the woods before. He grabbed Golden and hauled him to his feet. Suddenly he had an urgent desire to see his boys safe and sound.

  * * *

  The screams were getting louder. Elmer sat on a log in the middle of camp, staring at the surrounding woods, his face grey. The other campers were clustered around the tents, murmuring nervously among themselves.

  “Gee,” said Pete. “Elmer looks pretty scared. It must be something real nasty.”

  “Nonsense,” said the coach. “He’s just bewildered because he doesn’t know what it is.” He looked around at the frightened faces of his students. “This has gone far enough. Drimsdale, come over here.” Elmer presented himself. “What’s going on? Do you have any idea what’s making that noise?”

  Elmer stared at him. “Sir, do we have any weapons?”

  Flynn gawked. “Just our Swiss Army knives. Why?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a high-powered tranquilizer rifle.”

  “All right, Drimsdale,” ordered Flynn. “Speak up. What’s out there?”

  Elmer swallowed hard. “Panthera carnivora. The spotted tundra leopard.”

  “What is it?” asked Boots anxiously.

  “Well,” said Elmer thoughtfully, “it’s three metres long, with a powerful set of jaws that apply pressure equivalent to a two-tonne hydraulic press. The teeth are razor-sharp and elongated for flesh ripping. Its habitat is usually the northern tundra, and it feeds primarily upon sea lions, walruses, caribou, polar bears, musk oxen, beached whales, un-spotted tundra leopards and, occasionally, man.”

  “Is it dangerous?” asked Pete.

  “What kind of stupid question is that?” cried Wilbur. “Does it sound harmless?”

  An echoing shriek from the woods was his answer.

  “But this isn’t the tundra,” protested Larry.

  “That’s what had me confused at first,” was Elmer’s reply. “But now that I’m convinced we’re dealing with an actual Panthera carnivora, we can only conclude that the food supply ran low in northern latitudes, and it’s come south —” he shuddered, “— to feed.”

  “In other words,” said Bruno miserably, “he already ate everybody in the tundra, and now he’s coming here to eat us.”

  “Enough!” interrupted Coach Flynn. “Look, boys, I’m Ontario born and bred, and when I was younger, I camped in Algonquin Park every year. They’ve got bears here, maybe a few wolves, lots of rodents and some birds. That’s it. No offence, Drimsdale, but this time you’re wrong.”

  Elmer hung his head. “I only wish I were, sir.”

  There was another scream from whatever it was.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous!” exclaimed the coach. “Look at you! You’re acting like a bunch of babies! Who do you believe — Drimsdale or me?”

  This was followed by an uncomfortable silence.

  “You know,” said Mark finally, “I’ve still got some videotape. Maybe we should each record a last message to our folks. Just in case.”

  “Are you kidding?” roared Calvin. “I’m going to make that leopard wish he’d never left the tundra! I’m going to rip off his spots and shove them down his throat! I’m going to tear him limb from limb!” His voice broke. “I’m going to tell my mother, and she’ll sue Macdonald Hall for every cent they’ve got! I’m too young to die! Oh, man! Oh, man!”

  “I can’t believe this!” howled Flynn. “Would you just cut it out! Nobody’s going to eat anybody —” He was interrupted by the next shriek, which was louder and a lot closer. It lifted everybody ten centimetres off the ground.

  Chaos ensued. In spite of Coach Flynn’s protests, the boys began to run around aimlessly. There was nowhere to go, but they felt better moving.

  “It’s almost here!”

  “It’s coming from the west!”

  “Prepare to defend yourselves!”

  “It’s coming from the north!”

  “Get a big stick!”

  “It’s coming from the east!”

  Bruno rummaged madly through his duffel, pulling out his Swiss Army knife. “Oh, great!” he cried out in exasperation. “The blade’s broken! All I’ve got is the can opener! Can you just see me fighting off a leopard with a can opener?”

  Boots, brandishing a cast-iron frying pan, handed Bruno a pot to use as a weapon. The exchange brought them to a halt, and they stood frozen in time for a few seconds, staring at each other. Neither spoke, but the question was obvious. Was this the end?

  “Nah!” Bruno snapped back to life first. He looked around. “Hey, Elm, can these tundra leopards swim?”

  “Of course not,” replied Elmer. “All cats avoid water.”

  Bruno threw his arms up in exasperation. “Well, get with the program, guys! We spent all day yesterday building a raft!”

  For a second, all activity ceased in the campsite. Then there was a mad dash for the lakefront. Wilbur and Larry picked up Coach Flynn and ran him battering ram style for the slope.

  “Stop!” bellowed Flynn.

  Everyone froze.

  “Aren’t we forgetting something here?” the coach demanded, hanging horizontal in the arms of the two boys. “I’m the teacher! You do what I say!”

  The loudest shriek of them all cut through the clearing, followed by a sound even more terrifying — a rustling in the bushes. Something was very, very close.

  “Everybody onto the raft!” howled Flynn.

  They stampeded down the hill, bearing their teacher.

  The rustling grew louder, then the bushes parted. Into the now-deserted clearing stepped William R. Sturgeon, Headmaster of Macdonald Hall.

  “This is the campsite,” he called over his shoulder. “I told you I heard voices.”

  Goose Golden’s eyes peered out from behind two broad green leaves. “Is it safe to come out? That animal sounds really close!”

  “Flynn? Fudge?” called the Headmaster. There was no answer, and no one in sight.

  At the lake, Wilbur hauled in the last length of rope that brought the raft to shore.

  “What if it won’t support all of us?” asked Jor
die.

  Boots stared at him. “You want to stay here while we find out?”

  They clambered aboard, with Coach Flynn lying on his side and everyone else standing up. Wilbur pushed the raft away from the bank, jumping on it as it moved off. The craft pitched dangerously and then stabilized. Everyone cheered, including the teacher.

  “Yo, leopard!” cried Bruno exuberantly. “Do your worst!”

  “Hah!” snarled Calvin. “You should have let me at him, Coach! I’d have ripped his head off!”

  “Next time, Fihzgart.”

  As they slowly drifted out, Larry pointed up the hill toward the campsite. “Hey!” he said in confusion. “There’s a guy up there!”

  All eyes turned to the figure at the top of the slope. “What are you, crazy, mister?” called Bruno. “Get down here! We’ll save you!”

  Boots, known for his keen eyesight, squinted at the man. “It’s The Fish!” he gasped.

  “It can’t be!” said Bruno. “Where’s his suit?”

  “Did you find anything?” called a voice from behind Mr. Sturgeon.

  Jordie perked up in sudden recognition. “Goose!” he cried. “It’s me, Jordie!”

  “J.J.!” The tattered figure of Goose Golden appeared over the hill in a full sprint. He was running so fast that his weary body outpaced his stumbling feet. Down the slope he went, tumbling head over heels.

  Mr. Sturgeon started after him, stepping carefully.

  “It’s not him,” whispered Bruno to Boots. “The Fish would never wear a dumb hat like that.”

  “Mr. Sturgeon! Mr. Golden!” called Elmer urgently. “Quick! Come onto the raft! There is a spotted tundra leopard stalking us!”

  The Headmaster helped Golden to his feet. “A spotted tundra leopard? You must be mistaken, Drimsdale.”

  A deafening, terrifying shriek came from above them.

  “Oh, sir,” pleaded Elmer, “it’s in the camp, and it’s coming this way! You’re in grave danger!”

  Mr. Sturgeon was perplexed. “It’s illogical, Drimsdale. I have no idea what that sound is, but it is not a tundra leopard two thousand kilometres off course!”

  Another savage cry, the loudest and fiercest of them all, echoed menacingly over the lake.

  Instantly, the Headmaster was into the water and running. Knees pumping high, he splashed through the shallows out to the raft, where willing hands hauled him aboard. Goose Golden was hot on his heels.

  Twelve people hunched on the bobbing S.S. Drown-in-the-Woods II, their eyes fixed on the hill, waiting for the deadly cat to appear.

  There was another shriek, and another and then the source of all that ferocious sound came screaming over the crest of the hill and stood silhouetted in the late afternoon sun.

  Cathy Burton.

  “Cathy?!” chorused Bruno and Boots in disbelief.

  Elmer was chagrined. “Perhaps I made a slight miscalculation.”

  Mr. Sturgeon glared at him. “Understatement, Drimsdale.”

  Cathy stared down at them. “What’s everybody doing out there? Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to overload a boat?” She waved and added, “Hi, Jordie.”

  Weakly, the star waved back.

  Miss Scrimmage puttered up to Cathy. “I just saw the most adorable little bunny rabbit!” She stared at the raft, then broke into a tremulous smile. “Oh, Catherine, the gifts and the camping trip were really more than enough! But to bring a barge with all my friends so we could have a party” — she dabbed at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief — “I don’t know what to say!”

  Diane and the other three girls rushed onto the scene. “Is he there?” They took in the sight of the jam-packed raft and fell silent.

  The unmistakable clatter of rotor blades was heard. All eyes turned skyward. A small bubble helicopter appeared in the bright sky, hovered briefly and began to descend.

  “Man!” exclaimed Pete in disgust. “Somebody finally flies right over the lake, and he can’t read our HELP sign ’cause we’re all standing on it!”

  As the craft descended, Jordie squinted up at it. “It’s Seth!”

  The director’s head and megaphone emerged from the bubble. “Is Jordie down there?” rang through the woods.

  Careful not to upset the raft, Bruno and Boots inched aside so the director could see his star. Jordie waved. An amplified sigh of relief skimmed the treetops.

  Golden signalled madly, windmilling his arms so violently that the platform began to bob, soaking Coach Flynn from head to toe. “I’m here, too, Seth! Don’t worry! I’m okay!”

  The helicopter moved directly over the manager, and the sudden gust of wind from the blades lifted the toupee clean off his head. The hairpiece was carried out to the centre of the lake. Just as it was about to settle down onto the water, an enormous grey muskie broke the surface, snapped up its prize and disappeared with a splash into the depths.

  The laughter that rang out through the megaphone was positively diabolical. “Okay, everybody gets a lift home except Goose!”

  There was a click, and Mark Davies lowered his camera and heaved a contented sigh. “Out of tape! But man, what a documentary!”

  Mr. Sturgeon turned very gingerly, and looked into every face on the raft. “I say — where’s Fudge?”

  Coach Flynn’s jaw dropped. “I thought it was Fudge that sent you!”

  The Headmaster threw his hands up in exasperation. “What a miserable muddle! Fudge gone, the trip ruined, my athletic director injured and all of us packed like sardines on this raft, looking proper idiots, stranded in the middle of nowhere! It could not possibly be more humiliating!”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than eight reporters exploded over the crest of the hill, cameras clicking.

  Mr. Sturgeon held his head. “I stand corrected.”

  By this time, the Baking Club had hold of the rope and was hauling the S.S. Drown-in-the-Woods II to shore.

  Wilbur checked his watch. “Gee,” he said, “I hope we don’t get back to school in time for dinner.” He shuddered. “It’s fish night.”

  Chapter 16

  The Super-Duper Jumbo-Boomer

  It was the last day of filming and, as a tribute to his hosts, Seth Dinkman was making it something of an occasion. Only two scenes remained to be done at Macdonald Hall — the grand finale, which was the explosion of the miniature Faculty Building and the re-shooting of the stunt Bruno had hijacked on the eve of Die-in-the-Woods. Figuring that nothing else could possibly go wrong, Dinkman had thrown the set open to both schools, and most of the reporters tracking Jordie Jones were there, too.

  Miss Scrimmage, once again wearing her sweater, jeans and hiking boots, stood with the Sturgeons, proudly watching as the star mingled politely with her students, shaking hands and signing autograph books. Headmaster and Headmistress had settled their differences, and all lawsuits were dropped. Macdonald Hall had agreed to buy Miss Scrimmage another shotgun.

  Only Goose Golden was absent. While waiting to be airlifted out of the woods, he had sustained a severe sunburn on the top of his bald head and was recovering in Jordie’s trailer.

  Cathy and Diane had separated themselves from the crowd of girls surrounding the teen idol and were standing with Bruno and Boots.

  Cathy watched her fellow students with tolerant amusement. “Can you believe those girls, drooling over Jordie like that?”

  Boots stared at her. “Yeah, I can believe it! Two minutes ago it was you, not only drooling, but dragging poor Miss Scrimmage halfway across the province and screaming the woods down!”

  “The point is,” Cathy continued, “sure, it’s great to meet a movie star. But once the mystery is gone, it’s no big deal. I mean, Jordie’s a nice guy, but he’s just a guy. The glamour is strictly on the screen.”

  “I’ll tell Cutesy,” said Bruno coldly. “He’ll be so thrilled to know he’s nothing special.”

  “Okay,” flushed Diane. “So we went a little overboard. But you two were just as bad, getti
ng so mad about it.”

  Bruno didn’t smile. “Just call it one of those babyish reactions you have when your best friends blow you off like you didn’t exist.”

  “Well, you didn’t have to get all jealous,” said Cathy. “You know a million movie stars couldn’t replace you guys.”

  Bruno and Boots looked at each other.

  “Okay,” said Bruno finally, “I think they’ve grovelled enough.”

  “You’re off the hook,” grinned Boots. “But you owe us.”

  “Plus Elmer Drimsdale needs a favour,” added Bruno. “He wants you to help him make a tape of different wildcat sounds. He’d ask you himself, but he’s in his room reading up on the spotted tundra leopard.”

  “Shhh!” hissed Mark, steadying his reloaded video camera. “Mr. Dinkman’s ready to talk.” Mr. Sturgeon had given Mark permission to record one last day of filming, provided he promised never to touch another video cassette until summer.

  “Okay, sports fans,” called Dinkman into the megaphone. “This is the home stretch. We blow up the school, we re-shoot the busting water pipe stunt and we’re on the plane to L.A. So let’s get it right. The school comes first. Flag me when the explosives are hooked up.”

  A short distance away, two special-effects technicians were running wires from their detonating plunger to the hidden cable that led to the carefully placed charges inside the Faculty Building model. One of the electricians reached down and pulled the end of an insulated wire that was partially buried in a flower bed.

  “Here she is. Hook ’er up.”

  His colleague frowned. “Are you sure we ran the cable all the way over here? It’s twenty metres to the model.”

  “Maybe we don’t want the plunger on camera, jerk. Just do it.”

  Reluctantly the second man made the connection. “We’d be off-screen if we were ten metres closer, and you know the big push to save equipment expenses,” he said, still doubtful. “We’d better check with Seth. Maybe we’re hooking up the wrong thing.”

  The first technician laughed. “This is a school. They don’t have low-impedance detonator cable sticking up out of every flower bed!” He took off his hat and waved it at the director. “All ready, Seth!”