Creature Keepers and the Swindled Soil-Soles

by Peter Nelson

  “Jordan, is that you?”

  He found Eldon lying near the fire on a bed of giant palm and banana leaves. Jordan felt a wave of dread replace his excitement as he knelt down beside his friend.

  Eldon was older and more mature than Jordan in so many ways. Ever since they’d first met, he’d always been the perfect picture of good manners, good posture, and good health. As not only the leader of the Creature Keepers, but also a First-Class Badger Ranger, Eldon prided himself on being a role model to others, including Jordan. But the Eldon lying before him on the jungle floor was not the same kid he’d come to know.

  Even in the dim light he could see that Eldon was very sick—his face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, lips thin and blue, hands weak and trembling. Jordan had to hold back tears at the sight of his friend like this. “Eldon, what’s happened? What do you need?”

  Eldon smiled faintly. His voice sounded strained and raspy. “You’re here, so everything’s going to be okay. Is Abbie with you, too?”

  Jordan tried to put on a brave face, but he hadn’t expected this. “There’s so much to tell you, Eldon, I don’t know where to start. I’m just so glad you’re . . . okay.”

  “You mean alive,” Eldon said. “I doubt I look okay.”

  “Well, you’ve looked better.” Jordan smiled.

  “I took a foolish risk, trying to do this on my own,” Eldon said. “My goal was to find Gusto, and I thought I could handle it all by myself. I tracked him down here, but then I’m afraid my spooring skills failed me. Did you get my postcard?”

  “Yes. I was just at El Encantado. Some horrible things have happened, Eldon. But I don’t know if you’re up for hearing about them. Everything’s so messed up.”

  Eldon turned his head and let out a brittle cough. Jordan could see how weak he was. He reached over and handed him some water in a small wooden cup.

  “Thank you,” he said as he took a drink. “Kriss told me all about Syd and the missing Soil-Soles. Boy, oh boy, that really stinks.”

  Jordan smiled. Despite how different he seemed and sounded, that was exactly the type of dorky thing Eldon was prone to saying, and it comforted him.

  “Eldon,” Jordan said. “I saw Gusto. He was there. At El Encantado.”

  Eldon’s hollow eyes got wider. He tried to sit up. Jordan settled him back again. “He’s gone now. He didn’t have the Soil-Soles. But he practically blew up the Amazon in front of Palafito. Really made a mess of things.”

  “So he still has the Hydro-Hide, and it’s still intact,” Eldon said. “I’d hoped the volcano might have singed it off him, but it’s probably what helped him survive.”

  “There was something else,” Jordan said. Eldon looked up at him. Jordan took his trembling hand and dropped his grandfather’s ring into it.

  “You found it,” he said weakly.

  “Put it on,” Jordan said. “I want you to keep it, at least for now. I don’t trust myself with it. I don’t want to lose it—not again. Especially while Gusto still thinks I’m my grandfather.”

  “Thank you,” Eldon said, taking it. “I will. Not because you can’t be trusted with it, but because I think I do need it more than you do right now.” He slipped it on his finger and exhaled deeply. “And as for you and your grandfather, there will come a day when I will give this ring back to you to keep, as its rightful owner. As heir to what he created.”

  “There’s something else,” Jordan said. “In the river, just before I pulled the ring off Gusto’s finger. He was trying to drown me. He used his Hydro-Hide to make the water pull me down. It was just like in the lake, when I lost the Soil-Soles. I thought it was the weight of Syd’s shoes pulling me—but now I fear it may have been something else.”

  “Gusto?”

  “There was a meteorite. It disappeared somewhere over the lake. Then, a second later, there was a green flash. A layer of light that skimmed across the surface of the water.”

  Eldon had propped his head up on his hands. He was looking stronger and healthier by the second. He stared into the fire, thinking. “There’s something that Nessie does sometimes,” he said. “Her loch lock. Because she can’t patrol all the world’s water at once, she’ll sometimes release a single scale from her Hydro-Hide into a body of water, usually at sunrise or sunset. It acts as an early warning system, letting her know if anything foreign has entered the ocean, sea, or lake. When the scale is released into the water, it causes a flashing effect similar to what you’re describing. I’ve seen it myself. Many have. It’s what people report as a green flash on the horizon at sunset or sunrise.”

  “Do you think Gusto knows the same trick?”

  “I’m sure he’s figured out every possible use for that Hydro-Hide. Maybe his plan was to somehow lure Syd into to the lake. A successful loch lock would alert Gusto right away that the Soil-Soles were submerged and ripe for the stealing.”

  “Great,” Jordan said. “I’m glad I made it easier for him.”

  “Jordan, if Gusto has the Hydro-Hide and the Soil-Soles, he could be more dangerous than ever. We’ve got to get word back to the CKCC.” Eldon sat up and whistled so sharply and loudly, Jordan thought his eardrums would burst.

  FLUTTER-FLUTTER-FLAP-FLOP! A few seconds later, Kriss tumbled to the ground in a gray, furry heap. He rolled to his feet and rushed to Eldon’s side.

  Eldon smiled at him. “Don’t worry, my friend, I’m feeling much better, thanks to Jordan here. Thank you for finding him, and for helping me watch Izzy. Where is he?”

  Kriss whispered as he pointed toward the dark jungle.

  “Gathering food, huh?” Eldon said. “Okay. Listen, as you know we have an emergency on our hands. I need you to fly back to the CKCC, alert Bernard and the others that we need them. Gusto may be planning something big, and we’ve got to be ready. Have them come down here in the submarine first. We’ll rendezvous at the El Encantado. The three of us will be there tomorrow, waiting to be picked up. Got it?”

  Kriss nodded, and gave a nod to Jordan. He fluttered and flapped a few feet off the ground, then suddenly whooshed out of the jungle, into the night sky.

  Jordan looked at Eldon. “Three of us? Who’s the third?”

  “Izzy,” Eldon said. “We can’t leave him here without a Keeper. She left him shortly before I arrived. I think he drove her away. Something spooked him, and he doesn’t trust humans. It’s up to you and me to win his trust and get him to come with us, for his own protection.”

  “Okay,” Jordan said. “How hard can that be?”

  Eldon looked at him. “He’s a Mapinguari. Not the most open-minded cryptid.”

  A rustle in the brush got both of their attention. Eldon sat up and whispered to Jordan as they stared into the darkness. “Just let me do the talking, ’til he gets to know you. And it might be best not to make eye contact, at least for now.”

  Jordan nodded, but immediately found that simple instruction impossible to follow as the Mapinguari stepped out of the darkness and into the firelight.

  Izzy was a six-foot tall, red-furred, sloth-like creature with long, sharp claws and a gaping, dagger-toothed mouth. But its mouth wasn’t where a mouth should be—it was in the center of the cryptid’s midsection. And while this was a very odd physical feature, unfortunately for Jordan, it wasn’t the oddest. Instead, Jordan found himself staring straight into the single, watermelon-sized eye in the center of Izzy’s massive forehead.

  21

  While Syd and Doris snooped around Gusto’s Heli-Jet, Abbie made her way over to Buck’s RV. It was late, but there were still some lingering fans murmuring about what they’d seen on Buck’s show. From what Abbie could pick up as she worked her way past them, most folks were eager to see if Buck’s mysterious guest star would actually come through on his promise. The die-hard Squatch freaks were obviously having a difficult time accepting that Bigfoot might be gone, but even some of them were curious about new creatures Buck might find, if only to fill the large-footed hole in their hearts.


  While the fans gossiped and buzzed, Abbie casually stepped closer to the RV, then snuck up onto the side of the porch-stage, where she quickly slipped through the door. Once inside, she was amazed at what she saw. The space looked like the inside of a completely different vehicle. While the outside of Buck’s RV was dirty, dented, rotted, and rusting, the inside looked like a fancy hotel penthouse suite.

  She heard a noise, and quickly hid behind a stack of boxes marked MADE IN BRAZIL. She peeked out between them and saw the man himself enter through a back door: it was Buck Wilde.

  Buck took off his trucker cap and hung it on a golden hook by the door. He kicked off his muddy boots and slipped his feet into a pair of fluffy white slippers with a gold BW stitched on them. Then he pulled on a matching terry-cloth bathrobe and crossed the large room, grabbing a handful of shrimp from a tower of shellfish set on a beautifully polished table. He poured himself a freshly blended vitamin-enhanced fruit smoothie and collapsed onto a tufted velvet couch. A short bald man entered, and began massaging his shoulders.

  “What a day . . . oh, yeahh . . . that’s the spot. Work your magic, Mr. Mojo. . . .”

  A member of the Buckaroo Crew, with a clipboard and a headset, rushed in. He whispered in Buck’s ear. Buck waved Mr. Mojo away, sat up, and adjusted his robe. “All right,” he said. “Send him in.”

  Abbie strained to look, then her stomach dropped. Areck Gusto ducked through the door and entered. He still had his long trench coat over the Hydro-Hide, although it now came a few feet short of concealing his other stolen item, the Soil-Soles on his feet.

  He looked around, taking in the ambience. “Nice place you’ve got here, Mr. Wilde. I presume the hillbilly personality is just an act. I respect your showmanship.”

  “The fans love that stuff,” Buck said. “But it also means I’m not the hick-fool you probably think I am.” He waved his arm toward the seafood buffet. “Help yourself. Probably the last one of those I’ll see for a while, now that I’m gonna lose my show.”

  “I would never think you a fool, Mr. Wilde. And you’re not losing your show.” Gusto circled the shrimp tower like a shark. “You’ve created a strong brand and fan following. I know you’re not fool enough to squander that. And neither am I.”

  “Get to it, Gusto. What do you want?”

  “I told you, I want to bring the world closer together. By pulling the cryptids out of the shadows. Then letting natural selection take its course.” Gusto snatched a shrimp from the tower, popped it into his mouth, and chomped—loudly.

  “You also said you’re a businessman,” Buck said. “So what are you selling?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Gusto stomped over to a table covered with a black cloth, dangerously close to where Abbie was hiding. “We will be selling this.”

  He yanked the cloth off with a grand flourish. It floated over the stack of boxes and landed on Abbie’s head. She peeked out and saw what Gusto had uncovered. There on the table were T-shirts, posters, dolls, pajamas, underwear, bedsheets, all with the same image or likeness—that of a red-furred, sloth-type creature with a mouth on its belly and a single, giant eye in the center of its head.

  “Meet the Mapinguari,” Gusto said. “Wild cycloptic sloth-man of the Amazon jungle. And I know precisely where to find him.”

  Buck’s face brightened. He stepped up to the table and admired the merchandise. “Not bad,” he said. “Love the adult-size onesies! This is quality stuff! So let me guess. I go off and make this jungle beast famous by hunting it on my show, and you clean up when everyone wants their very own Maggypoo—”

  “Mapinguari—”

  “—bedsheets. Might need to give him an easier name to remember.” He picked up a stuffed Izzy. “Bigmouth! No. Eyesquatch! I’m just spitballing here.”

  “Yes, yes. We’ll figure it out. And of course, you’ll receive fifty percent of all profit, which will only be icing on top of the hearty boost in television ratings. Well?”

  Buck grinned up at Gusto.

  “Wonderful. Now here’s how it will work. I will fly you, your Buckaroo Crew, and all your broadcasting equipment straight into the Amazon. Mapinguari’s backyard. You’ll broadcast live, and on the very first show you’ll track, hunt, and capture the creature. You’ll be an overnight sensation, the Mapinguari will be more famous than Bigfoot ever was, and we will sell billions in merchandise.”

  “Hold up.” Buck shook out of his daze. “I catch him? On the first show?”

  “It’s called ‘Buck Wilde: Creature-Catcher.’ Is there a problem?”

  “Uh, no, no. It’s just—see, my show was called ‘Buck Wilde: Squatch-Seeker!’ Never did much catching, I’m afraid. What do I do with him after I’ve caught him?”

  Gusto shrugged. “I don’t care. Cage the beast, release him, kill him. I leave it to you. You are an entertainer! You know when to give the people what they want, and when to leave them wanting.” He put his arm around Buck. “You see, the important thing won’t be that you will have caught the Mapinguari—what will matter is that you will have hooked millions of new fans.”

  Buck’s grin was back. “And on the next show?”

  “Believe me, this simple-minded beast is just the beginning,” Gusto said. “Consider it a down payment—there will be many more to come. How does a trip down to Fiji to hunt a Mermonkey sound? Or perhaps Buck Wilde in Australia, chasing down the mysterious Tasmanian Globster? We’ve got to think bigger, Mr. Wilde. Together.”

  Buck plopped into his chair and took a sip of his vitamin-enhanced fruit smoothie. “Big . . . I’m gonna be bigger than frozen waffles!” he said.

  Behind the boxes, Abbie did her best to keep from attacking them both.

  “And let me show you just how big,” Gusto said. “I’m personally setting up and having built a proper viewing environment for your most ardent fans, with plenty of room for growth.” He unrolled a large architectural diagram. On it was an outdoor jumbo-screen event center with boxes marked “food court” and “merchandise booths.” In the center was a tall likeness of Buck, and a banner across the top displayed the name of this wonderland. “I call it, BUCK WILDE’S WILDE ISLE! It’s being set up just outside as we speak, on what is currently referred to as Echo Island. All will be ready for your fans to watch tomorrow night!”

  “PLLLLTTT!” Buck spit his smoothie all over his robe. “Tomorrow night?”

  “Of course,” Gusto said. “When you’re about to make television history and take the first step in bringing the world a little closer together, you want to start as soon as possible. The Mapinguari is scheduled to be running through the jungle tomorrow night. I expect you and your cameras to be running right behind him. Why dillydally?”

  “It’s just so sudden, and we have to get to—the Amazon, did you say? How will I and my Buckaroo Crew get all our film equipment, my wardrobe, smoothie machine”—he waved his arms around his cushy RV—“all of this down there by tomorrow?”

  “Come. I’ll show you.” Gusto gestured toward the front door. Buck got up as Gusto threw it open. “Behold, my state-of-the-art Heli-Jet!” Buck stepped out and looked at an empty, windy field. A few costumed BuckHeads waved to him.

  “Sorry, I don’t see it. What is it, stealth or something?” Buck said.

  Gusto rushed outside, his big boots hitting the porch-stage with a rumble. Abbie stood up and peeked out a window. The Heli-Jet was gone.

  One of Gusto’s Brazilian minions approached, and spoke in a thick Portuguese accent. “Sorry, boss. But somebody borrowed your hellychopper.” He pointed and they all looked up. The quiet rotors were lifting the chopper into the night sky—awkwardly. It lurched, buzzed a tree, then swung around violently. CRASH! A sliced-off treetop came flying at Gusto and Buck. They dived for cover near the door.

  “WHO LET THIS HAPPEN?” Gusto shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something scurry out the door of the RV. He stomped on the wooden porch-stage with his Soil-Sole. Abbie was flung in the air on
the plank, and he caught her.

  “Aha . . . ,” he said. “I thought I smelled a Grimsley behind all of this.”

  22

  Abbie kicked and punched the air in front of Gusto as he held her high above the ground. “Let me go, you twisted freak!”

  Buck wasn’t sure what to make of this. “Gusto? Do we have a problem?”

  “No, there’s no problem, I assure you,” he said. “Just a rat. Please, go inside and check to make sure there aren’t any other vermin hiding in your camper.”

  Buck did as he was told. Gusto looked at Abbie. “I heard everything,” she said. “I know what you’re up to, and you won’t get away with it!”

  “You didn’t hear the half of it, my dear,” Gusto purred. “But I’m actually glad you’re here. I was beginning to worry we wouldn’t have any Creature Keepers to witness our world premiere tomorrow. I mean, how many invitations do I have to send to you people? Rumors that I was coming for Bigfoot’s Keeper, stealing the Soil-Soles, turning up on that buffoon’s show—” He looked up as Buck returned. “Ah, there you are!” Gusto pulled a thin, black device from under his trench coat.

  “All clear in there,” Buck said, eyeing Abbie with a slightly concerned look. “Uh, everything all right out here?”

  “Yes, yes. She’s just a corporate spy, that’s all. Let’s see, when was the last time our paths crossed, my dear? Hall of the Chupacabra, wasn’t it?”

  “Wait,” Buck said. “You bagged Bigfoot—and tracked down the Chupacabra?”

  “Tracked him? He and I were partners. But let’s just say our little project kind of . . . blew up. In part, thanks to you, Ms. Grimsley, as I recall.”

  “Wow, Chupacabra!” Buck said. “Hey, what’s he like to work with?”

  Abbie looked at Buck. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

  Syd struggled to keep the Heli-Jet in the air, while also struggling to keep his rather large butt in the pilot’s seat. Both were challenging. One because he wasn’t a trained pilot, and the other because not only was his butt way too big for the seat, but also he was sitting on the guy who was a trained pilot. The poor man’s muffled voice could be heard as Syd did his best to veer the chopper over the treetops, toward Mount Breakenridge.