by Stuart Gibbs
Summer suddenly froze in front of me, so fast I almost ran into her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“That smell.” She sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. “It’s awful. What is that, a kill?”
I inhaled. There was a distinctly putrid scent blowing toward us, and for a moment, I thought she might be right; Rocket might have killed an animal close by, possibly even one of the exotics in SafariLand.
But then I noticed which way the wind was coming from and realized what the scent was. “It’s not a kill. It’s the FWAP.”
“Ohhh.” Summer nodded understanding, then started running again.
FWAP—the FunJungle Waste Appropriation Plant—was the facility that handled the incredible amount of poop at the park. The thousands of animals at FunJungle generated several tons of it every day—the elephants alone could produce up to 300 pounds each—and it couldn’t simply be left where it was. Obviously, it was unsightly and smelly, but more importantly, there was simply too much of it to break down and return to nature the way it did in the wild. Even in the vast space of SafariLand, all the poop couldn’t be left where it dropped. FunJungle had actually experimented with leaving it in place, back before the park was officially open, but within a few days the stench was unbearable.
So FunJungle, like all zoos, needed a treatment facility. During the day, all the poop was collected from the exhibits and discreetly moved to the plant, which would then combine the poop with other recyclable waste from the park to create high-grade compost, which was then sold to local farmers. The compost was extremely cheap, but since the ingredients for it were all being generated for free, it barely cost anything to make in the first place, and thus, J.J. McCracken turned a tidy profit.
Unfortunately, J.J. had made one serious mistake with the location of FWAP. At first, putting it on the most distant side of the park had made plenty of sense. After all, no tourist wanted to see it—or smell it. But now that J.J. had decided to expand FunJungle with the Wilds, FWAP sat within sight of several of the rides. And, as we had just discovered, when the wind shifted, it was also within smelling distance. So FunJungle was in the process of building a new waste treatment facility, FWAP 2.0, but it wouldn’t be completed for another few weeks.
“I think I see the hunter!” Summer announced, pointing as she ran.
We were closing in on the Raging Raft Ride, near enough that it loomed against the dark sky and the sound of the churning water was now significantly louder. At the very top of the “mountain” was a craggy peak of fake stone. I could make out the silhouette of a man standing on it, the long shaft of a rifle gleaming in the moonlight by his side.
“Hey!” I yelled again, as loud as I could.
The hunter didn’t flinch. He probably hadn’t heard me over the roar of the rapids.
“Where the heck is security?” Summer asked angrily. “Someone should have been here by now.”
I glanced at my watch as I ran. It had only been a few minutes since Summer had called the dispatcher, but at least one security guard should have been stationed close to the Wilds, if not inside the construction site itself. J.J. had recently told me he was concerned about thieves looting his construction supplies—as well as radical environmental groups angry about the expansion of the park who might vandalize the rides to slow their construction. Plus, after the night before, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that there would be hunters around. I would have expected J.J. to have more guards than usual.
We were almost at the Raging Raft Ride, but now a new obstacle appeared in our path. Thousands of black plastic tubes were arrayed in long racks, angled into the air. The tubes were all four feet long, but ranged in diameter from three to six inches. The racks themselves were thirty feet long and bolted to the ground. It looked like some sort of medieval barricade.
“What the heck is that?” I asked.
“They’re for the fireworks!” Summer exclaimed, starting to thread her way through the racks.
“What fireworks?” I asked, following her.
“Daddy wants to have a big show for FunJungle’s anniversary party.”
“Really? I never heard about any fireworks.”
“They’re supposed to be a surprise.”
“Oh.” I wondered if that was the truth. I was sure Summer thought it was—she was probably only repeating what J.J. had told her—but J.J. might have lied to his own daughter about this. According to my parents, J.J. had originally wanted fireworks at FunJungle every single night, but many of the animal specialists, including my mother, had argued that long series of loud explosions would distress the animals. So it made sense that, if J.J. wanted fireworks for his party, he would arrange for them covertly. Out in the Wilds, the launching tubes weren’t hidden, but they blended in with all the construction, so it was possible none of the keepers had noticed them yet. My mother certainly hadn’t; if she had, she would have been livid.
Summer and I wound through the fireworks racks and finally arrived at the Raging Raft Ride. The ride was similar to that of many theme parks, where guests would go down a fake river in large, round rafts that held eight passengers. The basic idea was to provide some thrills and soak the riders—which would provide welcome relief during the long, hot Texas summers. At the edge of a fake lake, there was a loading area that was designed to look like a backcountry ranger station, beyond which the rafts would be hauled to the top of the mountain on a giant conveyor belt. Once there, they would careen through a series of manmade waves, whirlpools, and chutes until they reached the grand finale: a three-story slide down LoseYerLunch Falls into a standing wave designed to drench everyone.
To make the ride more appropriate for a zoo, there was a vague ecological theme to it. Full-size animatronic models of American animals like beavers, wolves, bobcats, moose, and grizzly bears were hidden in facsimiles of their natural habitats along the river. (J.J. had toyed with the idea of having real animals in exhibits along the ride, but all of his biologists had resoundingly vetoed the idea.) The models were designed to look as real as possible, though, so that young children—and maybe even gullible adults—would think they had really spotted a wild animal.
Meanwhile, there were also nods to landmarks in many national parks along the way: a smaller version of Half Dome from Yosemite, the weathered hoodoos of Bryce Canyon, the delicate rock bridges of Arches, and a tunnel through the trunk of a giant fallen tree like the ones in Sequoia. At the base of LoseYerLunch Falls, right before the rafts reached the exit dock, an enormous, Old Faithful–like geyser would erupt, soaking all the riders—again.
Tourists weren’t supposed to ever walk on the mountain, but there had to be access for maintenance workers, so a path ran along the course of the “river.” In keeping with the theme, it was designed to look like a rustic mountain hiking trail, complete with wooden direction markers and rock cairns. Summer led the way to it and I stayed right on her heels.
The trail quickly rose five stories up a series of fake stone steps alongside the giant conveyor belt. After our sprint through the construction site, I was wearing out, and the stairs left me gasping for breath by the time I reached the top. Summer didn’t seem nearly as tired. If anything, she seemed a bit annoyed at me for slowing down. “Come on!” she implored me, then raced ahead, disappearing behind a hoodoo.
“Summer!” I yelled. “Wait for me!”
She didn’t respond. So I tried to ignore the pain in my side and soldiered on after her.
Now that we were atop the fake mountain, it was evident that much more had to be done until the ride was completed. The entire back side of the mountain was unfinished; it was only a skeleton of iron beams. In several spots, there was a sheer drop down five stories and the railings hadn’t been installed yet; there were only a few loose ropes to prevent us from tumbling off the path. Most of the decorating had yet to be done. The rocks weren’t painted; the fake trees weren’t installed; woodland creatures were strewn haphazardly all around. I quickly
discovered that there are few things as disconcerting as rounding a corner in the dark to find yourself facing a pile of badgers.
The river itself was operating perfectly, though. Water gushed through the chutes at thousands of gallons a minute, creating waves and eddies and sending great sprays of mist into the air. There were moments when it felt like I was racing through an actual mountain gorge, rather than a fake one. At many spots, water had sloshed out of the chute, making the surface of the path wet and slippery, so I had to watch my step to make sure I didn’t slip and go flying over the edge.
And yet, I didn’t slow down. Summer was still ahead of me somewhere, on her way to face a hunter in the darkness, and I didn’t want her to do that alone.
“Summer!” I yelled into the night, trying to be louder than the rapids. “Where are you?”
Again, there was no response.
I was almost at the craggy peak where we had seen the hunter. To reach it, the trail crossed over a steep, narrow gorge through which the ride churned below. At some point in the future, there was probably going to be a bridge over it, most likely designed to look like one that you might see in the wilderness, with ropes and wooden slats, but at the moment, it hadn’t been built. Instead, there were only a few long wooden boards laid across the gorge, with a spindly wooden railing built on one side. Although the water was twenty feet below, the spray had made the boards wet, so crossing them looked to be treacherous.
Still, I grabbed the railing and set across. The boards jounced worryingly and the railing trembled in my grasp. Even though the gorge below my feet was manmade, it was still deep enough to make my heart pound. Except for the peak ahead of me, the makeshift bridge was the highest point for miles. I could see all of the construction site around me and the great dark swath of wilderness directly beyond it, dotted only with the occasional light of someone’s home in the surrounding hills. Lakeside Estates was merely a smattering of lights in the woods down far below.
At the edge of the fake lake, two pairs of headlights sliced through the night. The vehicles were big and blocky: the Land Rovers that FunJungle staff used to get around. Security had finally arrived.
The boards groaned and shuddered beneath my feet, reminding me to focus on the task at hand. I gripped the wobbly railing tighter and took the last few steps to the opposite side of the gorge.
A lot of water had collected there, creating a puddle that soaked my shoes, but at least I was on solid ground again.
I heard the sound of scuffling from the darkness nearby. Someone—or something—was coming around the craggy peak, not following the official trail. I spun that way to look for it . . .
And found myself staring directly into the eyes of a mountain lion. It was crouched in the shadows, ready to pounce, its mouth open in midsnarl, revealing its fangs.
I recoiled in fear and stumbled over the boards that formed the bridge behind me. My shoes slipped in the puddle, my feet shot out from under me, and I pitched backward. I grabbed the railing to steady myself, but it tore free under my weight.
Somehow, in the midst of that terrifying moment, I caught another glimpse of the mountain lion and realized it was only a model. Sooner or later, it would be moved into position where the riders could see it, but for now, it had been abandoned in the shadows.
But that revelation came too late. I was already falling into the gorge.
9
THE RAPIDS
As I fell backward off the rock, I spotted something else in the shadows beyond the lion. A human form, quickly circling the craggy peak, coming my way.
And then it was gone, replaced by a blur of images as I tumbled downward: rock and mist and sky and rock again.
I plunged into the water. It was bracingly cold and moving fast. My feet glanced off the bottom of the gorge, and then the current caught me and whisked me downriver.
I had once fallen out of a raft while with my father on the Zambezi River below Victoria Falls. That had been frightening, but the fake river was moving even faster than the Zambezi did because it was specifically designed for speed. This was very different from the other times I had found myself in trouble in the water at FunJungle. On those occasions, the water had been still, so I simply had to remain calm and swim for the surface—although I had sometimes needed to fend off sharks or polar bears while doing it. Now I was at the mercy of the water itself. I was sucked downward, dragged along, bounced off the walls of the fake gorge, and flipped head over heels. I was desperate for air, but in the darkness, it was hard to even tell which way was up.
Finally, I broke through the surface, managed a desperate breath, and then got yanked right back down again.
Something plunged into the river behind me. I didn’t see it. I only felt and heard the impact in the water, and then the bottom seemed to drop out from under me.
I had come to a slide. It was smaller than LoseYerLunch Falls, but the idea was the same: The raft would careen down this part quickly and crash into a standing wave at the bottom. The water here was shallow in order to make the slide work better—only a few inches deep—so I was able to breathe again as I skimmed downward. Unfortunately, I had hit the slide while moving backward, so I plunged down it headfirst.
On the Zambezi trip, my father had told me what to do in case I fell into the river, and I figured the same rules made sense here: I needed to get my feet in front of me, so they were leading the way downriver. That way, if I slammed into any obstacles, my feet would take the brunt of the impact. (On the Zambezi, there were also crocodiles, and you wanted to hit them feetfirst too, so you could kick them in the snout, rather than having them bite your head off. Thankfully, that bit of advice wasn’t necessary here.)
I dug my left elbow into the slope as hard as I could. The concrete base of the slide scraped my skin, but the maneuver worked decently well. I quickly spun around so that my feet were in front of me, then took a deep, gasping breath as I plunged through the standing wave.
It was surprising how hard water could be. Hitting the wave was like running into a wall. It knocked me flat against the bottom of the chute. But now I had my bearings and I was turned in the right direction. Even in the dark and the tumult of the rapids, I could use my arms and legs to keep myself oriented so I was facing downriver. It was hard work, and I was already tired from my run through the construction site, but adrenaline was coursing through me, giving me the strength to carry on.
I shot through a fast-moving patch of rapids, my feet caroming off a few fake boulders that might have split my skull if I’d hit them headfirst, then whipped through a large whirlpool and fired down a narrow slot canyon.
At one point, I caught sight of three fake moose perched on the edge of the river above me, implacably watching my journey with their glassy eyes.
There was a tremendous rumble ahead of me. I figured it had to be the final falls, but it sounded like every wildebeest in the Serengeti stampeding at once. The entire river seemed to vibrate around me.
I hurtled around a corner and was plunged into darkness. It took me a moment to realize I was passing through a tunnel. The water slowed here, creating a calm before the final storm of LoseYerLunch. Manmade stalactites jutted down from the ceiling while fake bats wheeled about them on hidden wires. Ahead of me, a curtain of water rained down over the tunnel’s exit.
Rafters on the Raging Raft Ride didn’t start at the very top of LoseYerLunch Falls. Instead, you came through the falls, emerging from the tunnel and getting drenched before sliding down the chute. If I had been in a raft, it probably would have been really fun. But now, on my own, without the protection of any sort of vehicle, the approaching drop was terrifying.
I tried digging my feet and hands into the bottom of the chute to stop myself, but the water was moving too fast and I couldn’t gain purchase. The exit was coming up quickly. So I took a final deep breath, wrapped my arms tightly around me, and pointed my feet straight ahead.
The water pounded me as I punched through the falls,
and then I was racing downhill. The standing wave at the bottom of the falls was significantly larger than the one I had hit before. I closed my eyes tightly and braced for impact.
This wave hit me much harder than the first one had. Guests in the inflatable rafts would have crashed through it and bounded along the surface, but an undertow yanked me downward instead. The bottom of the fake lake was concrete, rather than mud, and I rolled along it for a few feet before the water calmed enough for me to try surfacing. I kicked off the bottom.
But my foot caught on something. Underwater metal fences flanked me on both sides. They were there to make sure that the rafts followed the proper course back to the exit dock, instead of floating aimlessly across the lake. However, they hadn’t been designed with swimmers in mind. My shoe got snagged in the gap between the fence and the bottom of the lake, keeping me from surfacing. Only the top of my head broke through the water, and then the current shoved me down again. With my foot caught, I was forced face-first against the concrete. I kept trying to wrench myself free, but the current was too strong and now the lack of oxygen was making my strength ebb as well. My lungs burned and my vision blurred as I strained against the current.
And then, suddenly, someone grabbed my foot. I felt them tug it out of my shoe, and then their arms circled my body and heaved me upward.
I burst through the surface, sucking in air. Relief and exhaustion washed over me at once.
“Whoa!” a deep voice shouted right behind my ear. “That was quite a ride, wasn’t it?”
