by Lija Fisher
“Clivo, no!” Jerry screamed.
The tranquilizer dart hit Clivo squarely in the shoulder and his knees instantly went weak. The dart didn’t hurt that much, but the drug it injected definitely made his head swim and his body suddenly feel like it was trying to walk through water.
Clivo saw his friend’s eyes swing back and forth between Douglas and him, as if he was unsure of what to do. In his blurry mind, Clivo instantly regretted bringing Jerry along. Jerry wasn’t used to being attacked, and the first instinct was to freeze. With Clivo’s limbs hanging useless at his sides as he struggled to stay upright, he realized there was nothing he could do to help his friend, and Jerry just didn’t have enough experience to help him.
The situation got even worse as Douglas pulled a gun—a real gun—from his waistband and pointed it at Jerry. “Why don’t you pretend to be a smart kid and lock yourself in that cage over there?” Douglas growled.
“Jerry, do it,” Clivo mumbled as he dropped to his knees and fell onto his side.
Jerry grimaced, realizing there was nothing he could do, and walked into an empty cage. “Betraying Clivo like that is a cold move, man,” Jerry said as he shut the door behind him.
“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river, kid,” Douglas replied.
As Clivo’s eyelids got heavy and he slowly slipped into unconsciousness, he heard the jangle of the Egyptian rattle being shaken over him to protect him. All along, the person he’d needed protection from had been the person he’d trusted the most. Someone he’d considered a friend.
Clivo’s mind slowly went black. The last thing he heard was a rumble of thunder as the storm raged somewhere far above.
* * *
He woke to the smell of the cigar that was sticking out of Douglas’s mouth as the man lounged in a velvet-upholstered chair.
“Oh good, you’re awake,” Douglas said.
Clivo struggled to sit up, which was hard to do considering that Douglas had tied his hands behind his back and his feet together. Looking around, he found he was locked in one of the empty cages alongside the cryptids.
Jerry ran to the front of his cage. “Wren, you okay?”
“I’m fine, Coops. The demon chicken poison was worse, trust me.”
Clivo’s brain was slowly coming out of its fog, and the only thing that hurt was his shoulder where the dart had pierced it.
“Hello!” Douglas said, waving his arms around. “Doesn’t anybody care that I’m sitting here holding a gun?”
Clivo glared at Douglas with a seething hatred. “You’re the last person I care about right now, Mr. Chancery.”
“Yeah, no offense, Mr. Chancery, but you’re kind of a jerk,” Jerry said from his cage.
“Fine by me,” Douglas said, heaving himself up and stretching his back. “Being nice never got anybody anywhere in this world. Now, do you want to see why I gathered all the cryptids together or what?”
“Not really.” Clivo shrugged, not wanting to give Douglas even a second of satisfaction, even though he was deeply curious to know what awful fate Douglas had planned for the creatures.
Douglas moaned in exasperation. “Can’t you just have a little appreciation for the dramatic at least once?” He extinguished his cigar in an ashtray and walked over to a stainless-steel table that was covered with various bowls and test tubes. “Well, seeing as how you’re a very captive audience, I’m going to show you anyway, and I’d appreciate it if you feigned interest.”
Douglas picked up a pair of heavy rubber gloves and put them on. Clivo exchanged nervous glances with Jerry.
Douglas hobbled over to the cage that held the blue tiger, a massive beast colored a light shade of blue. Douglas reached inside the cage to grab the tiger’s collar, but the creature let out a low growl and swiped a giant paw at Douglas’s hand. “Hey! Don’t be nasty!” Douglas grabbed what looked like a cattle prod and gave the tiger a shock.
“Leave it alone!” Clivo yelled, unable to stomach watching a cryptid being abused.
The tiger let out a roar of pain and cowered on the floor.
“Come on, now, don’t make me ask again,” Douglas said, holding out his hand and the cattle prod. The tiger crawled forward, opened its mouth, and from its tongue a drop of pearl-colored saliva fell into Douglas’s palm. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Okay, kids, prepare to have your minds blown.”
Douglas faced a stone wall, wound his arm up like a pitcher, and threw the saliva at the granite. The second the pearl hit, it exploded into a bright light, then settled into a roaring green flame that covered most of the wall. Clivo blinked rapidly from the brightness and heat.
“Hoo-wee!” Douglas cackled with excitement. He faced Clivo and Jerry and spread his arms out wide. “You have to be impressed by that.”
“So you kidnapped a tiger who spits fire? Congratulations, you must feel pretty proud of yourself,” Clivo said.
His eyes were scanning the room, trying to figure out if there was a way out of this mess, but with both Jerry and him in cages and his own arms tied, things weren’t looking too good.
“You are really becoming a pain in my rear, you know that?” Douglas complained, sitting back down in the chair with a grunt. “As you probably were beginning to guess, each cryptid is endowed with some pretty spectacular properties. The Honey Island Swamp Monster over there has teeth harder than the strongest substance on earth, the chupacabras can shoot claws that are sharper than obsidian, and that chicken thing there has a poison in its beak that renders a person unconscious as effectively as the best tranquilizer out there.”
“Yeah, I’ve experienced that,” Clivo said. “So are you just keeping them around as pets to show off to your friends, or what?”
Douglas rested his forearms on his knees. “Kid, stuff like this can only be used for one thing.”
“I’m guessing it’s not for world peace,” Clivo replied.
Douglas cackled and slapped his hand on his leg as if that was the funniest thing he had ever heard. “Nah, never had much use for world peace—makes things a bit boring, if you ask me. No, kid, this stuff is much better put to use as organic warfare.”
“What’s that?” Jerry asked, his face pressed against the bars.
“Ah! That got your attention!” Douglas stood up and went to some cupboards, where he poured himself a drink.
Clivo looked at the cavernous underground dungeon and realized that part of it looked like a laboratory, complete with beakers and Bunsen burners. The other half was a dark, cozy living room with a hearth, overstuffed chairs, and thick wooden coffee tables. It was like a mad scientist’s lair, and Clivo and Jerry had stumbled directly into it.
Douglas took a hearty swig of his drink and let out an annoying sigh of contentment. “Time for a history lesson, kids. The military has been working on how to use animals for warfare since the Civil War. But really child’s-play stuff. They trained horses not to shy away from cannon blasts, taught dogs to drag wounded soldiers off the battlefield, dumb stuff like that. Then they got a little more sophisticated, such as training dolphins to warn submarines about any underwater mines. But they never really did anything big. Until now.”
Clivo glanced around him at the cryptids. It was like they knew he was there to rescue them. Their expressions were desperate and pleading, and it killed him that there was nothing he could do to help.
“Hey! I’m talking here!” Douglas said, nudging Clivo with his foot.
“Sorry my attention wandered from your boring presentation,” Clivo replied sharply.
“You always were a brat, you know that?” Douglas said. “Anyway, to continue my story, I started out as one of the good guys. I made my millions in the family fracking business and was living a rather boring life of excess when I met your dad.”
Clivo’s head whipped up at the mention of his dad. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this story. “What about my dad?”
“We met at church, if you can believe it. Ha! Can you picture me in church now? God would come
straight down from heaven and kick me out himself. But your dad and I were both real Goody Two-shoes at the time, trying to find ways to save the world and all that crap. Then, after your dad and I became friends, he confided that he had discovered a way to really save the world with this immortal cryptid thing. He just needed some money for those worldwide treks of his. I was hooked. Not only could I save the world, but all I had to do was write a check and someone else did all the heavy lifting. You see, I always was the lazy one.”
“So what happened? Why did you stop being one of the good guys?” Jerry asked.
Douglas took another swig of his drink and rocked back and forth in his chair, as if remembering a pleasant memory. “Turning evil is actually quite easy. It’s staying good that’s hard, and I was never up for a challenge. Things were all fun and exciting at first, while your dad was catching cryptids. He’d come home and show me photos and talk about his adventures. But it got boring after a while! You can only hear about the awe of catching legendary creatures for so long before it becomes as mundane as going to the bathroom. And who knew how long it would take to find the immortal? Time was passing, my money was dwindling, and I was no closer to saving the world. But then something miraculous happened.”
“Do tell us about your miracle. I can hardly stand the suspense,” Clivo said dryly, although he had to admit that he was curious about his father’s history. His father’s time as a cryptid catcher was such a mystery to him that he was eager for any information that would shed light on how his father had gotten involved in such an adventure.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Douglas said, waving his drink around. “Russell’s boring cryptid-catching stories started taking a more exciting turn. He started talking about how each cryptid seemed to have evolved all sorts of neat natural defense mechanisms. Exploding saliva, tranquilizing beaks, shape-shifting abilities. Real blow-your-mind-type stuff. All of a sudden, life was fascinating again, and my wheels started turning. While Russell was looking for the immortal, I could take the stuff from the other cryptids and sell it to the military for a pretty penny. Organic warfare was about to take an incredibly interesting leap.”
“And so you changed? Just like that? You went from wanting to protect the world to wanting to destroy it?” Clivo asked.
Douglas finished his drink with a gulp. “Trust me, kid, you just have to care about yourself and ignore the needs of others, which has always been very easy for me. Besides, which is more fun—saving the world, or building a super soldier complete with indestructible armor, shape-shifting abilities, and explosive powers that can wipe out a town with a fling of the wrist? You have to admit that’s pretty cool!”
Jerry raised his hand. “I’m more of a ‘save the world’ type of guy myself. Learning how to fight war better still means you’re waging war. And in war, nobody really wins.”
Douglas leaned back in his chair with a heavy grunt. “Bah! You kids are such Goody Two-shoes, it makes me sick.”
A thought struck Clivo. He looked at Douglas, wanting to ask the question but terrified of the answer.
“How did my father die?”
The words were barely a whisper.
A shadow fell across Douglas’s face. “I killed him.”
Clivo’s chest clenched so tightly he couldn’t breathe. His jaw locked together and the next words came out in a choke. “Why? He was your friend.”
Douglas waved his hand as if swatting away a fly. “Not after he discovered what I was doing. He had no interest in using the cryptids for organic warfare. He wanted to protect them, which is so boring! I knew he had never told you anything because he wanted to wait until you were older, so you could enjoy your frivolous childhood without being burdened with the knowledge of the immortal. So I figured I’d just get him out of the way and start fresh with you. Please tell me you’re not completely against turning evil. It really is great fun.”
“I’m so sorry, Wren,” Jerry said, his hands gripping the bars of his cage.
Clivo was having a hard time catching his breath. His father had been killed by Douglas, a man whom Russell had considered his friend. Clivo couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if one his friends betrayed him—the thought was unbearable. His father being murdered was one thing, but being murdered by someone Russell had trusted made it even worse. Someone whom Clivo had trusted. He had even been beginning to like Douglas. Why hadn’t he seen it? He felt so, so stupid.
Clivo was suddenly grateful that he had kept the Blasters a secret. He and Jerry might be trapped with this evil man, but at least Pearl and the Blasters were safe.
Douglas stood up and grabbed the gun that he had left on a table. “So, in case you’re interested—and you really should be—here’s what’s going to happen next—”
He was interrupted by a rather loud banging coming from what must have been the front door.
“What the—?” Douglas’s eyes narrowed as he whirled his head toward the sound. He clutched the gun tightly and hobbled to the spiral stairs, gripping his cane in his other hand.
Clivo and Jerry stared at each other, questioning, as Douglas disappeared, followed by the squeaky sound of a door opening. Immediately a cacophony of voices floated down into the dungeon—a mixture of several loud, excited voices interspersed with guttural responses from Douglas.
After a moment there was the sound of the door being slammed shut and locked, followed by a stampede of footsteps coming down the stairs.
Clivo’s eyes just about bugged out of his head when he saw Douglas enter the room, the Myth Blasters right behind him, all nervously clutching their laptop computers close to their chests.
Douglas smiled at Clivo with satisfaction. “Well, kid, looks like I now know how you’re so good at finding cryptids.”
XII
Clivo stared at the Myth Blasters from his cage in shock and panic. What are they doing here? They should be safe at home with Pearl. Why did they put themselves in danger?
The Blasters glanced around the room, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the cryptids. Clivo had forgotten that they had never seen one, much less seventeen. He wished their first time seeing the magnificent creatures wasn’t in the dungeon of an unhinged lunatic who had the beasts bound and caged.
“Mr. Chancery, I don’t know who these kids are. You should probably just let them go.” Clivo didn’t know what to do or say; he just wanted the Myth Blasters out of there.
“That’s not what they tell me,” Douglas said, waving his gun at them. “They say they know you pretty well, and that without them there’s no way you’d ever find a cryptid by yourself.”
“Hi, Clivo. Hey, Jerry,” Hernando said and waved.
“What’s up, dudes!” Adam said, puffing out his chest proudly.
Clivo grunted in frustration. The Blasters obviously weren’t picking up on his attempt to get them out of harm’s way.
“Guys, what are you doing here?” Clivo finally asked in a strained voice.
Stephanie stepped forward, her eyes darting around nervously. “We do everything as a team, remember?”
“And that includes the dangerous stuff, too, dude,” Charles agreed, his buckteeth sticking out in defiance.
Douglas let out a cackle. “Well, well, well, isn’t this a nice, cozy reunion!”
Clivo needed to stall so he could think of a way out of this, or they’d all be dead. “Mr. Chancery, I’m warning you. Let them go. You need me to find the cryptids, and I won’t help you if you hurt them.”
“Hurt them?” Douglas said. “Now why would I do that when they’re obviously the brains behind your whole business? I think that keeping them here is a much better idea, don’t you?” Douglas leaned over and put his face next to Clivo’s, his breath smelling evil. “But if you don’t keep catching cryptids for me, then we’re going to have a problem. Do we understand each other?”
Clivo was stuck. Douglas now was holding not only Jerry hostage, but the Blasters, too. Everything he cared about was in danger. If h
e didn’t do something soon, his friends would be prisoners and he’d be forced to continue catching cryptids for the purpose of waging war.
Douglas straightened up and motioned to the Blasters with his gun. “Okay, nerd herd, into that cage with you.”
Adam looked at Clivo out of the corner of his eye and whispered, “So, dude, we really didn’t have much planned because brave rescue attempts aren’t really our forte, but if we distract crankydude for a minute, do you have anything up your sleeve?”
Clivo’s mind whirled. He was a good fighter, but locked in a cage with his hands and feet bound, he was worthless. “Can you distract him without getting hurt?”
Adam nodded. “Maybe. As we were coming down here on our bikes, we realized we were unarmed, so we came up with a plan in case of trouble.”
Douglas waved his hands up and down at Clivo. “Hello! I can hear you!” He turned toward the Blasters, his gun at the ready. “In the cage. Now! And come to think of it, maybe I’ll shoot one of you since you obviously aren’t taking my threats seriously.”
Douglas raised his gun and fired. Hernando jumped in front of Amelia, his laptop held in front of him like a shield. The bullet ricocheted off the computer as Hernando landed on his face with a splat, the destroyed machine clattering across the floor.
“Blasters! Fire!” Adam quickly said. In a surprising move, he flung his laptop toward Douglas like a Frisbee. It just missed the man’s head, smashing against the wall instead.
With reluctant grimaces on their faces, the other Blasters flung their precious laptops at their enemy. He dodged all of them except Amelia’s, whose machine knocked the gun from his hand before shattering.
“Blasters! Pile on!” shouted Adam.
The Blasters ran and jumped on Douglas, who tried to shake them off as he snarled with anger. He lifted his cane and began swatting at them like a professional swordsman. The cryptids had all moved to the fronts of their cages and were moaning and barking sounds of terror, as if begging for the battle to stop. The wombat-like gunni was running its antlers across the cage bars while moaning pitifully.
